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“No.”
“How many men?” he demands.
“One.”
“And he never…” he trails off. “I should make you come in front of him so he can see what he’s missing. See the flare of your innocent eyes, the tremor of your lips and the way you moan and cry out. Such a beautiful, addictive sight.” He lifts his head, kissing inside my thigh and I think how sweet it is until his teeth sink in, leaving a bruising mark.
Standing, he bends and picks me up. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to bed. You’re going to need all the sleep you can get because you will pay for that stunt you pulled today.”
I bury my face in his chest, exhausted. “Okay.”
I inhale his scent and then I give way to darkness.
Chapter 15
“Behind every sweet smile, there is a bitter sadness that no one can ever see and feel.” - Tupac.
Past
His hands were bigger. Calloused and startling, beautiful. He’d let me measure my hand against his when I couldn’t sleepat night. When the shouting was too much to bear and I was scared of what was to come.
He was older, not by a lot, a few years, but he always seemed so grown. Wise beyond his years. His eyes spoke of horrors he never confessed. His body rough with more scars than I could count. But his smiles. Only for me.
He’d sit in my bed at night, the door locked as hell waged war beyond the doors. His arms crossed over his chest, ankles crossed and above the covers. I’d read him love stories I’m sure he didn’t care for but never complained.
His scent was always a comfort. Dark decisions and tobacco. Something that was so him, I always felt safe when I smelled it.
He was my light.
“Promise we’ll always be friends?” I asked.
His head tilted, mouth smirking. “Friends?”
I held my pinky out, “Yes. Promise.”
His larger pinky wrapped around mine. “Promise.” He whispers.
Present
I wake with a gasp.
I had a memory frombefore.
What does it mean though? My older brothers had been gone by then. I know this because logically it’s impossible. They’re years older than me. I had to be in my mid to late teens at that point. Plus, my little brother was still small, it couldn't have been him. Especially not with the age gape
So, who was the boy and why were we hiding in a locked room?
I scoot to the edge of the mattress, grabbing the file I stole from under the bed.
Opening it, I read.
Constance Pearson
Birthday: October 17th, 1995
Birthplace: Seattle, Washington
